By the hand of the Gods
by stranger12
Summary: [One-shot] Not even war and time could ever erase the everlasting memories and presence of Lucius Vorenus's life from Owen Hunt's soul


_**By the hand of the Gods**_

Owen Hunt never managed to get rid of the presence and memories of Lucius Vorenus, no matter how hard he tried, or what he did. Through lost loves and lost innocence, war and horror, Owen saw Lucius's life flashing before his eyes, and the parallels between their existences.

PS: Mentions of Slash. No like, no read.

Notes:

"Words" – regular conversation

'Words' – quotations and such, mouthing, thoughts

* * *

_**By the hand of the Gods**_

When Owen Hunt was five years old, small, red haired and already a bright child, he asked his mother how come his hair was reddish and not blond. The woman smiled indulgently, and said that he'd gotten his hair color from her, a full headed red Irish descendant. He'd blinked and just smiled, although that had not been the answer he wanted; he wanted to know, truly, why he looked in the mirror and saw himself as a different boy, blond and with different eyes. Later, he'd recognize this difference as hardness. Coldness. Detachment. He would see those in his eyes many years later.

As Owen grew, he never stopped closing his eyes at night and dreaming about a dusty, dirty world. Clothes that never fit him properly, no pants for sure, ever. Feet almost touching the stone streets. People shouting in an odd language. And, above all, an awe of the world and the everyday beauty in his life. Every time he opened his eyes in the morning after such dreams, Owen felt a sort of loss, as if he existed in this modern world, but belonged elsewhere, in a time where just as he entered puberty, he was getting married and having children, not kissing girls in basements during birthday parties.

By the time Owen was in high school, the memories had become a welcomed companion. The simple life his ancient counterpart led was soothing, and even the images of his wife and daughters brought him joy. Although he, in both worlds, was a mere teenager, in his other life, he was a father of two, and his wife was a stunning girl his age, and even though her face was unclear in his dreams, he knew for sure she had long, wavy dark hair, a kind touch and a passion directed only at him. Thus, he only ever dated dark haired girls, and couldn't help but try to love them as he loved his wife. It was a most difficult task, and it only led to broken relationships. Loving was difficult.

Everything changed when Owen was twenty two, toasting after a hard test. He was a happy pre–Med student, and life was perfect. That night, however, when he returned home, everything shifted.

His dreams that night were darker than they'd ever been. Gone was his family, instead visions of men everywhere, only men. Swords, shields, mud and blood. Fighting, sparring, slicing and piercing. His roommate awoke him in the morning looking scared, as Owen had never had a nightmare and, he commented over breakfast, it sounded like it was a bad one. Owen didn't say anything back and tried his hardest to shove all of his bloody memories deep within him.

From then on, his dreams were scarce and far between, but always filled to the brim with battles in the rain, shouting matches with much larger men, using his sword on so many other men. Sleeping in the middle of nowhere, heart heavy with desire to return home to his family. Owen always woke up sweating and groaning. He no longer longed for these dreams, only dreaded them, more than anything else.

As he moved on to med school and his life became a blur of books, professors, tests and papers, he met Beth, a blond and sweet girl. He forced himself to not ignore her, to try. She was different from all other women he'd been with – from the color of her hair to her demeanor. Alongside dark hair, he'd always had a preference for strong women, which translated to stubborn, confrontational. Beth was anything but, and he found himself... Warming up to her. It was difficult to ignore the little voice in his head that spoke in that clear, rough voice that seemed like his very own, saying that she was no good. No fiber, no backbone. No good for a wife. He rebelled and ignored the voice, and continued seeing Beth, and she fell deeply in love with him.

He did not. Years later, he would see that he never truly loved her. He never fell in love with her.

Soon, he was an intern and a hard worker as always, a characteristic he shared with his other self. At this time, the dreams had diminished, but the scenery hardly changed. Blood. Death. Longing for home. No more, no less. By the time he'd become a respected fellow surgeon, the dreams had stopped, and although it hurt him a little that they had, he ignored it and turned his focus to surgery and Beth. Beth, his blond haired girlfriend. His wrong girlfriend.

Then, war. Actual war came. When he saw in the news how badly things were getting, he started daydreaming instead of 'seeing' only at night. He often spent his downtime staring at nothing until someone came to snap him out of visions of true war. True combat. Of people dying right in front of him. Companions' blood in his hands. He left a weeping Beth behind, but joined the military hoping the horrid images of his hands covered in his comrades' guts would go away. They never did.

Life was difficult during the war. Iraq. The desert and heat brought back memories, and more often than not, he had to hold himself back from grabbing at a non–existent sword and brandishing it at enemies. His hands shook sometimes, almost as if with life of their own, wanting to be used in close combat. He started to drink to try to calm himself and 'himself'.

Owen met Teddy Altman, a tall, light haired woman. She had a pretty smile and a expectant disposition that turned him off about as much as Beth's kindness, but he eventually became friends with her. He sensed her attraction to him, and knew that, if not for 'him', he would probably feel attracted right back.

Swiftly, just like the images of long gone horror filled his dreams, now visions of grown daughters and a strange little boy filled them. An older wife, still dark haired and beautiful, though. Now, after so many years, still intoxicating. Alongside them, a man, tall, broad and scruffy, so very different from his rather shorter, light haired self. Sometimes, Owen smiled in his sleep, his military companions told him, and he felt a little warmness inside him. He did not know who the man was, and often felt irritation towards him, but there was also a deep feeling of companionship, kinship. Brotherhood.

The war did not end, but he returned home. Oddly, as soon as he was back, still in his army clothes, he found himself saving a man's life using a pen on his neck. They went to Seattle Grace Hospital, and for a moment as he looked at the Asian doctor standing there at the ambulance bay, he was mesmerized by her dark, wavy hair. The voice in his head whispered softly, longingly, 'Her. Her. Her'. As usual, he ignored it, though it was a whole lot more difficult this time. She felt like all the other dark haired, stubborn and willful girls he'd dated, and yet... She felt more like his wife than any other he'd ever met.

Her name was Cristina, and she was the one he'd been looking for, he was absolutely sure. She was the one.

Owen was offered a position as a trauma surgeon, and he took it happily, if only to do what he loved, and to be close to the woman who so easily enchanted him. In his dreams, sometimes he 'saw' other women besides his wife. Light hair, bright red hair, beauties, all of them, but he had eyes only for the mother of his lovely daughters.

As he tried to return to civilian life, he got to know his workmates. They were pure, untouched by war and destruction, and he found it difficult to connect with them, especially as he continued dreaming of the tall fellow, his clear brother in arms, someone who felt so exasperating and lovable all the same, and Owen felt love for him. Love for a brother, for a friend. For... Something.

Richard Webber, the Chief of Surgery was nothing like the imposing figures of Owen's dreams. He had no presence, not like in his nights, like the older man who smiled serenely and commanded all with a mere glance, not like the man close to Owen's age, dark haired, smirking and utterly charming. Richard was a man, just a man, not a near God as they felt. He was normal, he was... He was like Owen. They could do great things, but unlike them, they would never be great.

Derek Sheperd had something of charm, but perhaps it was his good looks, so safe it almost made Owen downright giggle. He had always thought himself handsome enough, but there was something soft about Sheperd, with his perfect hair and twinkling eyes. Owen had met men like him in the war, and he wondered what could make the neurosurgeon break, for all men broke.

The interns and residents, Owen ignored for the most part, other than her. Cristina. She surprised and enticed him at every turn, she made him chase her like he'd never chased anyone before. Beth and all the others, even the ones he thought he loved, or could love, had been so easy to conquer when compared to the brilliant, driven and wonderful Cristina Yang. The wife in his dreams had always given him a smile as easily as she slapped him, and Cristina was almost like that, except she didn't resort to violence, no. She preferred her sharp words, and what a mind! He loved her so easily, and they hadn't even been on a date.

Dating Cristina was difficult, because she wasn't an easy woman. Her best friend (her 'person') was Meredith Grey, and what a complex one that was. Owen didn't much care for her, there was something about her that rubbed him the wrong way, and he couldn't understand what. It wasn't like he had never met damaged people (in his dreams or not), and it wasn't like her relationship with Cristina bothered him that much (it honestly didn't). He didn't know if she somehow reminded him of someone he had met and disliked.

His dreams came as usual. His brother in arms started to appear more than his wife, and he was ever amusing, screaming at the Gods and nearly drowning them, and then into a fucking desert – why was he cursed with such hot climates? He was always with his friend, even as they walked aimlessly through the hot sands, even as they met a hypnotizing woman in the middle of nowhere and she tried to seduce him, then his friend. Owen had never before or since met a woman like her, beautiful and tantalizing to the point of making a man lose himself in her. Not even Cristina had that sexual, raw appeal, and it felt wrong, like that woman was cursed. He didn't see much of her, thankfully.

Cristina and Owen fell into a relationship quickly. She commented a few times how together he seemed, because she'd met vets who had not come out of the war without seeing enemies in the shadows, and he answered simply that he'd seen enough of war in his life that his time in the military thankfully didn't faze him much. Her dark eyes bore into him, but he didn't say he'd seen war in his dreams for so long it was a part of him.

Then Teddy came back into his life, and it was like Beth all over again. The blond woman had been so sad at him, and her father so angry, and Owen felt guilty. He had not even had the decency of loving Beth, and he'd hurt her so badly. When she disappeared with her father later, he could not help but feel like shit, though he knew neither would have been happy together. He was meant for Cristina, not Beth. Teddy was still in love with him, and though he showed her only friendship, it was still awkward, though he decide it was high time to confront her, and over beers and tequila, he did. The woman was heartbroken, but was won over by his honesty.

It took a while, but Cristina and Teddy started working together, and they slaughtered everyone on their path to cardiothoracic surgery success. Owen looked on in amusement.

Sometimes when he dreamed, Owen was with a man, the same smirking, charming man he'd seen a few times before, always in the splendor of battle, always greater than life. It was slightly confusing, but after a few times, Owen realized they were lovers. He didn't know when it started, because it came in pieces, but there was no mistaking the way their mouths fused, the way their bodies moved together. What of his beautiful wife? He did not see her, he felt only the heat of the desert.

For a while, it was difficult to focus on life, his real life. Cristina got worried, she said he mumbled in his sleep sometimes, calling for 'Pullo' and 'Niobe', and Owen neither knew who they were, or how to explain they were likely people who populated the dreams he'd been having all his life. How could he explain that to someone so rational like Cristina? So he did not.

his male lover plagued his dreams for a long time, even after his wife appeared again. Some nights, he was with his wife and his lover, treating both with the same ardor and desire. Did he love the man? He did not think so, not like for his wife, for Cristina, but he felt something. It wasn't like the love for his brother in arms, best friend, he supposed, it was different.

Owen hesitated but one day he caved and asked Cristina if she'd ever loved two people at once. She instantly turned cold and furious, and he finally explained about his dreams. For the first time in his life, he talked about them, and she reacted as he expected, incredulous, rolling her eyes. But he persisted, now that he'd started it was easier, and she gradually turned serious, and he could tell she was torn between telling him to go to the hospital shrink or–

She believed him, somewhat, and finally answered his question. She had never been torn between two lovers, and she had never been with a woman, so she couldn't really help him. All the same, she curiously asked why he cared so much, why it was important to him to understand the relationship his part self (as she put it) had had with a man. He didn't know, and could not answer her. The life of his dreams was important to him, no matter how distant or impossible.

The dreams continued, as did his relationship with Cristina. She was as wild as he'd first thought, and just as charming and smart and perfect for him, even though she did not particularly desire for a child. He'd had children before, in his dreams, and thought he might like to have them in his real life, but if the love of his life, for Cristina could be nothing less, didn't want them... He could not give her up. Children, he'd somewhat had already. Her? No, he couldn't.

Cristina laughed herself silly when he told her about it, and she did tell him that the difficult thing about having children was having to give up who you were for someone else, someone helpless that truly needed them. People did it all the time, but Cristina didn't want to compromise, she wanted to be the best surgeon in the world, and even if she could have a child and love them wholly, she loved a scalpel in her hand all the more. Owen understood to a level – he loved her more than anything else in the world, even children, even himself.

It was intoxicating to be with Cristina, as it was in his dreams. His wife, so passionate, his lover, so fiery. Owen lost himself to them when he closed his eyes, and when he was awake, he lost himself in Cristina, who never gave in to him, who never gave up on him.

One day, he awoke in a cold sweat, screaming. Cristina was beside him, wide awake and clearly rattled. He told her, still shaking, that his wife had died, it was confusing, but he thought he killed her, or caused her death. Cristina held him, clearly not fully understanding his sentiments, but more than willing to just hold him for as long as he needed her. Thankfully, he wasn't working that day, though she was, and he slept most of the day, and his dreams were brutal.

His wife was dead. His children were gone. His lover? Who knew. Gone too. His best friend was away with a quiet but intelligent small woman (though near his friend, everyone was small, even Owen). His entire world was gone, in the dust, and he felt such despair and pain and–

When Cristina came back, she found him throwing up in the bathroom, clinging to the toilet like a lifeline. He told her his dreams came to a screeching halt all of a sudden, just when he was feeling the worst he'd ever felt in either life, and he didn't know what that could possibly mean. Had he died? Killed himself, perhaps?

Again, she held him, soothingly rubbing his back as he cried and finished throwing up the little he had left in him.

For the next few months, Owen was deeply depressed. He only dreamed normal dreams, the kind he barely had all his life and people all around him always commented on. He never dreamed of his other life, and it was like something in him twisted each time he went to sleep then awoke with only a blank space in his mind. Nothing. No more of his other life as a weary soldier.

As time passed, he realized he might never again dream of that life. Ever. It was a painful realization, but Owen knew perfectly well that there was absolutely nothing to be done about it. He had a real life to live, and he was damned if he was going to let it just slip through his fingers.

Life went on. Cristina and him had their fights, their problems, but they remained together. His colleagues became his friends, a new family of sorts, and he felt content, happy even, in his life for once, without the screams and swords and blood and misery of his dreams. He missed it sometimes, he good parts, but always tried to push them back. Sometimes he would have normal dreams about his other life, mostly playbacks, sometimes gut wrenching, sometimes funny (they usually involved his goofy best friend).

Then... Then one day, he had a dream. He could feel the heat again, he could feel the dirt on him, all around him, he could take a deep breath and it was horrid.

His best friend was with him, and they were just sitting in a courtyard, Owen's home. His friend was saying something, impossible to understand as usual, and Owen was smiling at whatever he was saying. Perhaps a story? He looked the type to like telling a good one. And then his wife walked by, his children in tow, his friend's girl carrying a basket as she walked them by, and Owen felt at peace. He could taste the wine he drank, the bread he ate, and the warm hand of his friend as he slapped his back.

When he awoke, he felt light, perhaps for the first time in so long. He still felt at ease with the world, and happy. He didn't know why he'd seen that scene, his wife was alive, his children and friend were there, he felt safe and full and content. Maybe it was a memory of a perfect day, maybe whatever, whomever made him see his other life in his dreams allowed him the kindness of knowing his other self had had such days as well, it was not all fighting and killing. It was family, and a good friend on a lovely day.

He didn't tell Cristina about it, but he didn't think he had to, some of his friends commented on how good humored he was, it was obvious for anyone to see, from the way he smiled and laughed and treated everyone with a happy manner. And he was happy.

One day, he went to a Vet hospital, intent on giving back, maybe helping some of them, when he met him.

"Hello there" – the tall, bald and grinning man said, shaking his head and looking at him like he'd known him all his life – "I'm Lieutenant Kyle Sands, you are Major Hunt?"

"Yes. Owen, please" – he looked at the man and felt an overwhelming feeling of homecoming.

"Then I'm Kyle. Nice to meet you, Owen"

Cristina didn't quite understand why he fell into such a close friendship with Kyle Sands, not even when Owen told her he looked exactly like his the best friend of his dreams, but it was okay. He had her, the perfect woman, and he had his wonderful and still ridiculous friend back.

Perhaps whatever Gods had conspired to make him dream all his life about a long gone existence had some kindness in them to allow him to have the two most important people in that life back into his current one.

Maybe one day he would meet others from his dreams, maybe not. Maybe he would dream about that life again, maybe not. But he knew he would always have Cristina, and Kyle. And his dream self.

* * *

Rome was a great show, and I was pretty excited when Kevin McKidd joined Grey's, and this kinda... Came to me one day and it took some several years to write this little barely there story, but I kinda like the way it is. Thank the Gods I waited until Grey's got to where it did before I wrote this, 'cause it would've been an entirely different story otherwise.

Wishing for more Grey's/Rome crossovers, but that may be too much to ask? LOL

Happy (early) 2015!


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